The Taste of Green Jelly Slugs
by KuroNeko
Summary: Neville thinks a special gift will calm Harry down. Neville&Harry, sorta.


**Title**: The Taste of Green Jelly Slugs

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling built the sandbox. I just play in it.

**A/N**: Originally written for Woobies of Destiny Challenge #60: Harry wants to be alone. Harry wants to vent. Neville gives him a plant.

Neville bit into a Jelly Slug, tearing one of its feelers off and using his tongue to roll it around the inside of his mouth. The taste of lime came in sharp, short bursts, distracting him somewhat from his sixth year Herbology text and the explanation of the life cycle of butterwort. When the last of the feeler melted down his throat, he brought the rest of the sweet to his lips, sucking the slime-like jelly out through the hole left by the missing feeler. He finished the rest of the slug in one gulp, swallowing the limp, gummy shell whole.

He eased against the pillow at the edge of his four-poster, his head sinking slightly into the fabric-covered down, unremarkable hazel-colored eyes staring at the canopy above. It was much too early for bed. None of the other boys had even arrived back in their dorm. Sleep was the furthest thing from Neville's mind. The others told him that he snored. A deep, raspy sound, surprisingly confident and brash. So unlike the normal, unassuming voice of its owner.

A rush of wind fluttered through the drapes surrounding him, signaling the arrival of someone into the dorm. After a moment, a door slammed shut with resounding force.

"Fuck!"

Neville eased a timid, shaking hand out from behind the curtains of his four-poster, parting them a crack. "H-Harry?" He slipped his head through the break in the drapes, eyes wide with curiosity and apprehension. He noticed Harry was dressed in full Quidditch gear. "Is...wh-what's wrong?"

Harry gave a small bark of a laugh. "Oh, _nothing_," he sneered. "Ginny just made team captain, is all. Nothing to bloody worry about. Everything is brilliant. Just _brilliant_." He tugged forcefully at the laces on his armguards until the knots broke. "Fuck!"

Neville's mind wavered between letting the curtain drop between them and parting it open all the way. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed the curtains back, bunching them up and tying them loosely to the bedposts. He swung his legs out so that they dangled over the edge of his bed.

"I'm sure there's a good reason Ginny made captain," Neville said softly.

Harry shook his head. "I'm the best player on the team! Why'd the position go to her? I've been playing over _twice_ as long as she has!" He slipped his armguards off his wrists, tossing them sullenly at the floor before leaping back-first onto his bed.

"Um..." Neville began.

"I don't want to talk about it." Harry snatched at the curtains around his four-poster and dragged them closed so savagely that he almost tore the fabric off the grommets.

Neville took a deep breath, holding it in until his lungs ached for release. What Harry really needed was something to calm him down.

And Neville knew just the thing.

Luckily, Gryffindor had Double Herbology with Ravenclaw the following afternoon, which allowed Neville time to speak with Harry afterwards.

Harry was at the basin washing his dirt-stained hands when Neville cautiously approached him.

"Erm, Harry?"

"What?" Harry snapped. His nose was still slightly red and stinging from a Fanged Geranium bite. He thought that they'd be done with those flowers once fifth year was over and OWLs were done with. The bite only worsened his already bad mood.

Neville bit at his bottom lip, his teeth peeling off the top layer of chapped skin from it. He anxiously chewed on the layer before spitting it out. "Uh...well..."

Harry tried his best to be patient, but Neville's fidgeting irked him. He wanted to grab the other boy by his shoulders and shake him, just so he'd make other sounds besides "erm" and "uh". "What've you got to tell me, Neville?"

"Uh...I've noticed you've been a bit on edge, lately."

Harry frowned. "I don't need anyone to tell me that."

"L-let me finish. I want to show you something. It's helped me out. Professor Sprout gave it to me second year and I've...I've been working on it ever since."

Curious, Harry followed Neville towards one dark corner of the greenhouse, draped with hanging vines. Neville set out his left hand towards one of the vine's tendrils, which steadily coiled around his fingers. The tip of the tendril slashed a tiny cut into Neville's palm. He hissed sharply, but stood firm as another tendril sopped up the droplet of blood sitting in his hand. The tangle of vines parted, revealing a tiny room beyond.

"Blood magic. No one else can get through here except me." There was a distinct tinge of pride in his voice as he brought his hand to his lips. His tongue pressed against the wound for a moment, the taste bitter and coppery, but not entirely unpleasant. "A-and anyone I invite in, of course. C'mon, Harry."

Harry passed through the opening in the vines, stepping into the hidden room. A jumbled collection of plants filled the space, leaving very little room for both boys to stand in.

"I keep my hybrid experiments in here," Neville explained. "For extra points from Sprout. She let me have the room. But I wanted to show you this." He pointed out what looked like a full-sized oak tree shrunk down to a few feet in height. "It's a bonsai plant. I didn't use any spells to shrink it down. It's just...I shaped it this way."

Harry stepped closer to the bonsai. "Neville, I know what bonsai is. It's a Muggle thing, from Japan."

"Yeah, isn't it fantastic? You have to, sort of, listen to the plant. Suss out how it wants to grow and then shape it into its proper form. Best thing is, once you start trimming it down, it relaxes you."

Harry eyed the bonsai plant skeptically. "I dunno..."

"Have a go at it, Harry." Neville snatched a pair of shears from a workbench nearby and shoved them into Harry's hand. "I swear it does wonders."

Harry stared at the shears and shook his head resignedly, his mouth pursing into a thin line. "Alright, then." He approached the bonsai plant, searching out the best way to trim it. That top branch seemed a bit too long. He set the shears in place and squeezed the handles, snipping the branch clear off.

Neville bit back a squeak, determined not to get overemotional at Harry's ignorant manhandling of the bonsai. Oh, dear, it looked terribly wrong now. The proportions were skewed, and the balance within the whole of the plant was disrupted. "Erm...no wait...let me..."

He cautiously slipped behind Harry, edging his arms underneath Harry's armpits and taking hold of the hand with the shears. Biting the tip of his tongue in concentration, he began to repair the damage Harry had inadvertently done to the plant. Neville's movements were quick, assured. In his mind's eye, he could see his ideal image of the bonsai, and strove to mimic that image in real life.

Harry took little notice of Neville's hands until now. They were rough, calloused from years of digging about in soil. Unexpected for a boy of sixteen. Odd. It made Neville seem older. Then again, Harry thought bitterly, his own hands were rough from the piles of chores the Dursleys forced him to do for all those years.

"I'm sorry I ruined your plant, Neville." Harry couldn't stop watching Neville's hand working the shears. He easily imagined the blades as a beak, and Neville's hand turning into a strange, animal-like head. The creature took small nips at the plant, darting quietly among the leaves and branches.

"It's okay. I can fix it." Neville's warm breath tickled at Harry's ear. "Um...D'you mind th-that we're so close? It's just...we've so little room..."

Harry shook his head. "It's fine."

"Okay." Neville continued to trim the plant, his head angled over Harry's right shoulder so he could see what he was doing.

Harry could tell Neville had been sneaking sweets in lessons again. The other boy's breath smelled of chocolate, the scent of it wafting towards Harry's face each time Neville exhaled. It was no wonder Neville's lips were horribly chafed and dry. The boy breathed through his mouth much of the time, jaw slack and completing his usual expression of confusion. Harry idly wondered what sort of sweet touched those chapped lips last. Were the remnants of a chocolate frog feebly struggling in Neville's stomach? Or was it just a chunk of Honeyduke's chocolate bought last Hogsmeade weekend?

"There." A final sharp snip accompanied Neville's single word. "Fixed."

Harry stared at the bonsai, trying his best to judge it through Neville's point-of-view. It didn't look much different than before. All he could see was a small tree with irregular branches growing out in all directions. Untidy. Imperfect. Tiny. He squinted at it, then took his glasses off to stare at it. Blurry brown lines tufted green at the ends filled his vision.

"Erm, Harry?" Neville said awkwardly.

"Yeah?"

"Could you...uh, you've got my arms pinned..."

Harry blinked, put his glasses back on, and stared down. Neville's arms were still draped across his ribs. "Oh, sorry. I didn't notice." He lifted his shoulders, allowing Neville to free himself from the accidental embrace.

"I-It's alright, H-Harry. N-no harm d-done." The words came in a jumbled, stammering rush, a signal that Neville was highly anxious. The only other time Harry remembered Neville speaking so fast was in Potions lessons. "Uh, s-so d'you feel better?"

"What?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

"You s-seemed to be feeling out of sorts l-lately. I was j-just wondering if w-working with the bonsai made things a bit better." Neville began to fidget with the shears, tracing his fingers along the blades' unsharpened sides in a desperate attempt to find something to do with his fumbling hands.

"Um..." Harry had to admit to himself that watching Neville work made him forget his own worries, at least for the moment. "Yeah, a bit, I suppose."

A tiny half-grin appeared on Neville's face. "I'm glad."

* * *

A raging storm poured rain outside, but despite the rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning, Gryffindor still had Quidditch practice that evening. Neville, half-buried snugly under warm layers of bedcovers, burned a stare at the dorm room door, willing it to open not with a wand or a whispered password but through sheer force of will. His eyes darted towards the parcel sitting on Harry's bed. The brown paper wrapped around the parcel was damp and dotted with dark raindrop stains. A rather unappealing gift, and Neville idly considered rewrapping it completely. 

The door swiftly swung open with a furious bang, and Harry trudged into the room, sopping wet and seething. Water dripped from the locks of his plastered-down hair. The lenses of his glasses were foggy, and he attempted to wipe them clear with a moist sleeve. It only resulted in smeared water across the glass. He could barely see out of them. He skulked over to his bed and sat at the edge of it as he began to remove his Quidditch gear.

The parcel tipped over, pressing against Harry's back. He shrugged it off, too annoyed and tired to bother with actually turning around to look at whatever was resting behind him.

Neville began to second-guess the timing of his gift. He bit down hard on his bottom lip again, the pain of it allowing him to concentrate on what he wished to say.

"Um, Harry?" he said from his bed, his voice soft and unsure. "I've, um, I've got something...uh..."

A drawn-out sigh heaved from Harry's lungs. He wasn't in the mood to talk, and Neville's well-meaning but frustratingly long way of speaking quickly got on his nerves. "Look, Neville. Could it wait? This isn't the right time." He reached for his wand and cast a quick drying charm on himself.

"I think it's exactly the right time," Neville muttered as he eased out of his bed. Not bothering with slippers, he shuddered as his bare feet trod through the path of rainwater Harry dripped on the floor. "Th-there's something on your bed. For you."

"Why?"

Neville shrugged timidly, reaching across Harry's bed to fetch the damp parcel. He sat next to Harry, clumsily shoving the gift into the other boy's arms. "T-take it," he stammered in a voice a few octaves higher than normal. "It's yours."

Wary green eyes settled on Neville as Harry easily tore into the brown wrapper. A tuft of green poked through the jagged hole, and Harry ripped the rest of the paper off, revealing a tiny tree, no taller than his forearm was long. Its smooth bark was more grey than brown, its little dark-green leaves waxy-looking and spiked at the edges.

"_Ilex aquifolium_," Neville intoned, a sheepish grin settling on his lips as he noticed Harry's confusion. "Um, English holly. I-it's what your wand's made out of, isn't it? Holly?"

"Yeah, but how'd you know that?"

Neville's head tilted to one side. "Colour, mostly. And...and the pattern of the grain. It's sort of obvious. L-like fingerprints."

Harry marveled at the miniscule bonsai version of his wand tree, stroking the trunk of the holly and surprised at how smooth it felt. "Are you sure you want me to have it?"

"Of course! I mean, it's your tree. That is, uh, s-some wizard cultures have close bonds to their wand trees. It's not uncommon for wizards to...to tend to trees." His cheeks began to turn crimson. Why'd he have to give an Herbology lesson now? "S-so I've read."

"It's brilliant, Neville. Thanks." He placed the pot on his nightstand and settled back on the bed, trying to shift away from the damp spot his backside had dripped onto the comforter.

"You're welcome, Harry." Neville made to get up from the bed but a cool hand clamped onto his arm. "Uh..."

"It's a bonsai plant, right?" Harry said, tugging gently on Neville's wrist. "It's got to be trimmed, and I don't know how to do that. Could you show me how that's done?"

Neville gaped at Harry's request, his stomach nervously tying into knots, but before he could stop himself, he was smiling and nodding and saying, "Okay. It's simple." He crawled along Harry's bed to get a better look at the tree. "Um, for a tree like this, it's probably best if you k-keep it looking like a regular tree, only smaller. See? You'll need to trim the scragglers. Erm, the small side branches c-can detract from the overall look of the tree. I mean, it's alright now, but maybe in a few weeks, it'd be...um...oh...h-hi..."

As Neville talked about bonsai techniques, Harry managed to slip behind him unawares. The two boys were mere inches apart, both laying stomach down on Harry's bed.

"Y-you don't have to be so close, you know." Neville had to prop his head up on his arm in order to angle his eyes towards Harry. "I don't...I haven't brought any shears up from the greenhouses so I can't really show you how to trim at the...moment." Neville had never been so close to Harry before, never gotten the chance to stare into the other boy's eyes until this very moment.

Harry's eyes were the exact same shade as holly leaves.

That had to be a trick of the dim light in the dorm. Neville eased onto his back, his unsteady hands reaching out towards Harry's glasses.

Harry jerked away from Neville's shaking fingers. "What're you doing?"

"Uh!" Neville's eyes went wide like a frightened rabbit's. "I was...I mean...I'd never noticed...um...y-your eyes. Th-they're green."

"Yeah, so?" Harry sighed, suddenly defensive. He hated how people always pointed out things about his facial features: his scar, his glasses, his messy hair, his eye colour. Out of all the people Harry knew and considered friends, Neville was the last person he'd expected to mention something so superficial.

"W-well, um...I was j-just wondering if...if they were really that colour. L-like holly leaves." Neville's gaze darted towards the bonsai tree for a moment. "I'd never noticed until n-now."

Harry found it difficult to hide the smirk on his face, but he removed his glasses, allowing Neville to get a closer look at his eyes.

Neville stared mesmerized. How could Harry's eyes be that colour? How could they so perfectly match the leaves on the tree? How could they be Neville's favourite colour, the colour of Herbology lessons and growing things and lime Jelly Slugs? He yearned for a taste of the gummy sweet, for a taste of anything, really. His heart quickened in his chest, the mad beating of it spurring him on.

To do what?

In one rapid motion, he leaned towards Harry and kissed him, an eager, suckling movement like how he ate sweets. It felt exactly like eating sweets: the way that tingly, happy feeling sat in the middle of his stomach as he awaited the anticipation of more. More? Harry wasn't a chocolate frog! He pulled back abruptly after he realised what he was actually doing.

"That wasn't...I didn't...I'm s-s-sorry, Harry." Neville made to scramble away from the other boy, but in his desperate haste, he flailed his arms and legs and tumbled completely off the edge of the bed. He landed on the floor arse first, a shock of pain shooting from his tailbone up his spine. "Ow," he groaned.

Harry swung around and peeked down to the floor. An amused grin spread across his face, growing wider at Neville's obvious embarrassment. "Same old clumsy Neville."

"'S'not funny," Neville mumbled, settling on his hands and knees and pushing himself upright.

"I never said it was," Harry replied, moving aside to allow Neville room on the bed. "Come back."

"Uh..." Neville anxiously rubbed his nose with his palm. "I'm...I'll just head b-back, shall I?" He spun around and clamored towards his bed. It was his turn to pull hastily at the bedcurtains, aching to separate himself from Harry. Neville could still sense the blush on his face, hot and probably a deep beet red. He lay on his back, worried what Harry would say about this in the morning. Would Harry tell Ron about it? Would he tell Hermione? Or what about Seamus? Or Dean? He'd never survive the rest of sixth year if word of his hurried kiss got out.

As the evening rolled onward, Neville heard the other boys arrive in the dorms, Ron mumbling something about needing his broom serviced again and Seamus making the obligatory joke about it afterwards. One by one, the boys made preparations for bed, and soon the last lamp was put out, finally bringing welcome darkness to the room.

Neville couldn't sleep at all. His mind kept replaying the kiss over and over. Why was he reacting like this? His memory was usually so faulty, he could barely remember what he had for breakfast yesterday morning. Now, his brain had locked onto one thing.

One very pleasant thing.

No, that wasn't right. Harry was his friend. That's all. Just because he'd kissed the bloke didn't mean that he fancied him, did it?

He just liked the colour of his eyes.

Evening eased into night, and Neville's gaze was still focused up at the canopy of his four-poster. Why Harry? Why now? And why did Harry taste so good?

The drapes surrounding him slowly parted, and shadows moved across his vision. The sudden warmth of a human body pressed against him, pinning him to the bed.

"Uh..." Neville muttered, vainly struggling against the mass laying on top of him.

"Shhhh..." a soft voice hissed in his ear.

"H-Harry?" Neville stammered uncertainly, his voice low.

No answer pierced the silence, but something moist and yielding grazed across Neville's cheek before settling on his lips. The kiss was measured, Neville savoring each little variation in pressure, each soft moan escaping his partner's throat.

And he knew it was Harry, just by the way he tasted.


End file.
